When people think about “the benefits system,” there’s often a polarised narrative. Some imagine it as a safety net abused by people who don’t want to work, who live off the state in comfort. Others, like me, know the truth firsthand — and it’s not just a different reality, it’s a soul-destroying one.
Accessing benefits in the UK isn’t just about filling out forms. It’s about leaving your dignity at the door. It’s about standing in a system that echoes your worst inner fears — that you are worthless, a burden, and somehow to blame for needing help.
Shame thrives here.
So does silence.
Because talking about the true cost of being in the system — emotionally, psychologically, and even physically — opens you up to more judgement. The very act of seeking support is treated as evidence of your failure, rather than your strength.
Many people believe that claiming benefits is easy, that people do it to ‘have an easy life’. But the truth is, being on benefits loudly announces to the world — and to yourself — that you’ve somehow ‘failed’ at life. And that message isn’t subtle. It’s delivered daily through the structure of the system, the tone of letters, the degrading interviews, and the suspicion that seems baked into every interaction.
The System Dehumanises
It’s not set up to support healing or recovery. It’s designed to test, measure, and invalidate. The support people are told to seek — after illness, trauma, abuse, or loss — comes at a cost: invasive assessments, impossible expectations, and repeated humiliations. And the message is clear: you must prove your suffering is real, again and again.
The impact on a person’s nervous system when they are reliant on the benefits system cannot be overstated. Living with the constant threat of your income being reduced or removed — often on the whim of successive governments — places the body in a prolonged state of stress. The sympathetic nervous system is activated, keeping individuals stuck in survival mode, flooded with cortisol and adrenaline. Over time, this chronic dysregulation leads to exhaustion, burnout, and serious health consequences. It erodes a person’s sense of safety and belonging, disconnecting them from hope, self-worth, and even from their own body. What’s often dismissed as ‘laziness’ or ‘lack of motivation’ is in reality a nervous system collapse — a trauma response from years of systemic threat and invalidation.
What’s worse is the belief that if someone is struggling — emotionally or financially — they shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy life. There’s an unspoken rule that if you’re not contributing to the economy, you should be invisible, silent, and sad. God forbid you’re seen smiling at a café or sharing a happy photo online — it becomes evidence that you’re not struggling “enough.”
Disconnection as a Survival Strategy
Many people in the system have learned to disconnect from themselves just to get through the day. And yes, in some cases, there are people who’ve given up, who turn to substances or sleep away the hours — but what’s never asked is why?
Often, it’s years of trauma and systemic failures that brought them to that place. People don’t just give up — they’ve been worn down. Many have been abused, neglected, and repeatedly failed by the very institutions meant to protect them. And instead of support, they’re met with suspicion.
Judgement Masquerading as Help
Professionals working within the system — assessors, case workers, decision-makers — are often themselves disconnected and dysregulated. Not always, but often. Empathy isn’t valued. Efficiency is. Compassion is replaced with a checklist. And the people who sit across the desk from you — making decisions about your life — have been trained to question your credibility, not your pain.
Why It Matters
This isn’t just about being kind for kindness’ sake. Science shows that compassion heals. Trauma-informed, person-centred support enables people to recover faster, become more resilient, and move forward. If the system were built on understanding and care, fewer people would get stuck in it.
But that’s not the goal. Because when someone starts to get better — when there’s even a flicker of hope or recovery — the support is pulled away. They’re expected to return to full capacity immediately, cover impossible costs of living, and function as though the past never happened. Unsurprisingly, many end up right back where they started, only more depleted.
It Doesn’t Have to Be This Way
Just like our education system is beginning to question outdated, punitive policies, the benefits system needs radical change. We need to build structures that see people as human — not numbers, not claims, not problems to solve or weeds to pull.
We need to reframe success — not as how quickly someone can ‘get off benefits,’ but how fully they can rebuild their lives with dignity and hope. Until then, we’ll keep trapping people in cycles of shame and survival.
Let’s start talking about this openly.
Let’s challenge the narratives that blame individuals for the failure of systems.
And let’s remember: every single person in need of support is a human being — no less worthy, no less valuable, no less deserving of compassion than anyone else.